Yesterday's Warrior, page 4
Their voices floated back to him and he didn’t understand the language. There were four new men to add to the roster. He would inform Glauci and Titus Lucius, the doctore, who trained the men in the art of fighting. Lucius would ensure that the men saw the medicus, physician, and from there, Lucius would start them on their new career as gladiators. If he were right, these men would bring them much gold. He didn’t often get men such as these and a smile crept over his face. He could feel his purse filling with gold even now and he laughed, because his friend, Glauci would thank him very much and he would owe him much.
He turned, chuckling to himself and shook his head. He remembered when he’d been a gladiator. What a time, he’d been a bull of a man, not this wretched shadow he was now. But he had a woman at night and mulsum, honeyed wine, to ease the aches. He was fairly sure that the big one was going to earn him a lot of coin. Whoever they were, they were his now and he would make sure that Lucius did a good job. Because he suspected they were in fact soldiers, he estimated that it would only take about six months of training. Maybe a little more, but Scauras knew his men.
He jerked when he heard a clatter and sighed. The fools, could they not operate the pullies without his constant supervision? He moved quickly and saw the culprit.
“You maialis, castrated pig, know better than that! Do you wish to break my equipment? You’ll feel the lash if you do that again, you fool,” he snarled, the four men forgotten.
Θ
Marco felt the foot in his back as he was shoved through the gate and onto the hot sand. He could feel the heat of it and he cursed. His whole body ached and stung. Thad and Greg were ahead of him and Dean was beside him. His brain was seized with shock. He had never ever been assaulted in his life. People didn’t screw with him and so he was in shock of the physical abuse. His eyes wide and searching all around him, he took in his surroundings. Thousands of people were above him and their screams and catcalls hammered into his head like nails. He moved quickly to Thad and Greg, who were stumbling toward the middle of the arena. It looked so different from only a couple of hours ago and his mind jolted. Two hours and they were standing naked in front of thousands. The noise washed over him like a ceaseless wave and he felt it in his bones.
“What in the hell do we do now?” Dean cried out, shifting from one foot to the other. His body was covered with a thick sheen of sweat and blood ran down from several cuts. Bruises were already forming on Dean’s fair skin. It looked as though there were a hundred lines crisscrossing his body.
“Stay together, those bastards haven’t seen us yet,” Marco said, nodding his head toward a cluster of prisoners who were fighting like frenzied madmen. Hysterical screams were emanating from the roiling mass of humanity.
“We use all our training Marines, oohrah!” Dean cried.
The other men responded in kind and they readied themselves.
“Are we really going to kill them?” Greg asked.
“Dude, we’ve got no choice. They don’t give a flying shit if they kill us or we kill each other. Prepare yourself for a mindfuck, Greg; we’re going to have to kill and I mean everyone who comes at us. Otherwise, we’re dead and I don’t mean just for right now. Gladiators fight to kill. They will kill you, if that’s what’s expected,” Thad said. Marco noticed that Thad was moving in front of Greg, as a shield. Greg was kind of their little brother. Greg was capable of protecting himself, but the guys looked after him. Greg had gone into the Marines right after high school and they all knew he was still a kid.
Thad had long powerful legs and Marco had seen the man spar in the gym. He thought that Thad had said he was second degree black belt, but wasn’t sure. His brain was misfiring and terror was nearly choking him. They would spend the rest of their lives fighting. He had joined the Marines to fight, but not like this. They were all trained in hand-to-hand combat, but he’d always figured he’d have a rifle to do his killing and at a distance, not face to face.
The scent of blood and bowels permeated the air and he took a moment to look around. The prisoners were roughly a hundred feet away, still fighting each other. Up in the rows where they had stood looking down only hours before were thousands of men. Each level going up was filled to capacity with people, moving and screaming. He could see women in the higher tiers. On the ground around them was dark patches of blood, body parts, lengths of intestines, and excrement. There was a lone eyeball looking up at him. Human. He didn’t know if most of the body parts were human or animal as he remembered the lion in the cage. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that asshole with the whip, Appuleius, he thought his name was. Fucker, I’ll get you, you sorry son of a bitch, he thought darkly.
Marco saw the ugly stripe marks down both Greg and Thad and knew his own body held the marks. He shifted and drew in closer.
“They’ve noticed us, get ready,” Marco said and spread his feet apart.
“If you can get one of those swords, get one and start hacking away,” Thad said over his shoulder. Thad began to move forward, toward the oncoming prisoners. They were a sad lot, their eyes crazed and desperate. Their mouths were open and blood and spittle flew from the orifices as the men screamed. Thad knew that he had to use his body as a weapon if they were to have a chance. There were at least ten men heading their way and the rest had been left behind to die. The weapons the prisoners held were jagged bits of metal. They would not slice or kill cleanly and Thad suspected that was the whole purpose. To make death painful, slow and hard to accomplish. As the first man reached him, Thad bent one knee and struck out from the hip with his leg and caught the oncoming man in the gut and kicked him backwards, into the other men who fell around him.
The crowd erupted in a roar, but Thad didn’t hear them, his whole focus on the other men stepping over the downed prisoners. He didn’t look but Dean darted forward and snatched up the sword the man had been carrying. As Thad turned to face another oncoming man, Marco ran out and bulldozed the prisoner off his feet. Marcos then took the sword and began hacking at the downed prisoner. Dean was doing the same and part of Thad’s brain was frozen in shock. He’d never seen something so brutal and gaming didn’t count. The scent of blood stung his nostrils.
He looked over to Greg, who was frozen to the spot and he gave a rough shove and brought the younger man to his senses. There was another man coming at Greg and he dropped down and did a leg sweep. Greg had long legs and Thad was glad to see that he could take care of himself. He then turned his attention to another man, who had gotten dangerously close and he felt the sting of the sword and it slashed across his stomach.
“Fucking asshole,” he snarled and backed up and did a jump, snap kick, catching the man under the chin. Teeth flew out of the man’s mouth, along with the tip of his tongue. He screamed in pain as blood cascaded from his mouth and his eyes bulged from his head. The man staggered back and the sword was still in his hand. The man stunk badly and if it weren’t for the fact that he was fighting for his life, Thad was sure that he would have vomited from the putrid stench.
His balls ached, his body stung and he felt bruised and battered and he was angry now. He narrowed his eyes and ran toward the man. He caught him with his upper body and he drove his shoulder into the man’s gut. He heard the air knocked out of the prisoner and he fell hard to the ground. Thad thought he heard the man’s ribs crack. He quickly snatched up the sword and brought it down on the man’s neck and felt the heat of arterial spray, as it splashed across his face and chest. He felt the grit of sand as it clung to him and abraded his skin.
He jumped up and away from the now dying man and faced another man. His eye caught Dean and Marco and saw that they too had killed and Greg was fighting with a prisoner, hacking away at him. Greg’s face was frozen in horror, his eyes wide and wild, but he kept swinging the sword over his head. Thad jumped out of the way as the last living prisoner ran past him and then the man turned. His lips were curled back in a vicious snarl and he was screaming something, though Thad didn’t understand him.
The man came running back toward Thad and he waited, sword in hand. He was almost there when Marco ran over and rammed his sword into the man’s back. The prisoner screamed and swung his sword backward and caught Marco across the face, opening his cheek.
“Freaking hell,” Marco screamed and Dean came forward and hacked at the man, leaving Marco to hold his bleeding face. All four men were panting hard and it was then that Thad realized that the people above them were cheering and laughing and waving their arms. Greg walked over and threw the bloody sword down and Dean joined him. Dean placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder and said something and the younger man nodded. Thad walked over to Marco and looked him over.
“Brother, you okay?” he asked.
“Dammit, it hurts,” Marco hissed.
“What in the hell do we do now?” Dean asked as he looked up into the crowd, who were still cheering.
“Hell, if I know,” Thad said and they all turned when they heard the gate squeak open and saw Appuleius head toward them, a sardonic smile on his face.
“I’m gonna put my foot up that fucker’s ass,” Marco snarled, blood streaming through his fingers from his cheek wound.
“Better save it for another day, bro. Your face is gonna get infected if it doesn’t get cleaned up,” Dean said.
“He’s right. It’s a damn good thing we’re all up on our tetanus shots,” Thad said.
“Very good. You’ve lived to fight another day. Scauras will be very pleased,” Appuleius said, a wide smile on his face.
He stood aside and pointed to the gates and the crowd cheered them on and the four men walked back into the bowels of the Colosseum. Appuleius lead the way, confident they would follow. He’s right, we have no place else to go, Thad thought darkly. He suddenly felt old and his body hurt badly and the bottoms of his feet burned. His body was now shaking violently as the reaction of what had happened occurred to him. He’d killed men, killed them. Really killed them with his bare hands. His eyes prickled with tears and he blinked them away. He could not show weakness, every fiber in his body told him so.
He moved with his friends and the man seemed to know where he was going in the labyrinth of tunnels. They passed slaves and then Thad saw them ahead and a thrill went through him.
“Look,” Greg hissed in a low whisper.
Ahead, coming toward them were gladiators, in all their regalia. Some of the gladiators held helmets under their arms. They carried no weapons but they looked imposing and impressive. Thad’s back straightened to unyielding hardness. He would not look weak in front of these men. He noted that his friends did the same and a smile creaked at the side of his mouth. They were Marines and they were badass, but these gladiators were something almost mythical. He set his face in hard lines, not wanting those men to read his expression. He would be facing them eventually, fighting for his life. Dread washed over him, these men had trained for this and he saw them and their scars. One man was missing an eye and a hideous puckered scar ran the length of his face. Marco heard the squeak of metal and leather.
He felt the eyes of the gladiators, sizing them up. Because he and his friends were all in top shape, he hoped it would give them all an advantage. They would need all the help they could get.
Marco’s hand had dropped to his side when he spotted the gladiators. A thrill went through him and he thought about all the movies he’d seen and all the video games he’d played, but nothing could compare to what he was seeing now. He felt drips of warmth hit his chest but he didn’t look down. He knew his face was bleeding but he would show no distress or discomfort. His spine snapped to attention. He had survived those skeevy bastards out on the sand. They stunk so badly that he wondered if they were infected.
Even now, he could smell them and fought the urge to wipe his hands. He then realized that he was still stark naked and had been so in front of thousands of people. He was starting to remember; it was as though his brain had been on autopilot. He felt once more the rage toward Appuleius and ground his teeth. He knew it would do no good, this was how things were in these times. He had to get his mind in the right place or these people could hurt him worse and not even think twice about it. Human life was nothing here if the crowd’s cheering were any indication. They had enjoyed watching those men get hacked to pieces and all the blood he’d seen on the ground and the pieces and parts of bodies.
His heart squeezed when the thought of his parents and his younger brother came into his mind. By tomorrow or the next day, they would be considered missing. He’d texted that he and his friends were going to the Colosseum, but the trail would go cold. He wanted to curse Dean, but he couldn’t because he had been just as excited to go down and explore the tunnels. Was it the earthquake that had opened a fissure in time? When they’d tried to backtrack, they had run into the torch, instead of the darkened tunnel. They had been neatly trapped in this time. What did that mean for them?
A shorter life and he bit down on the urge to scream. In a few days, his command and the Marine Corps would investigate and they might chalk it up to terrorists. Their families would wonder and grieve but no bodies would ever be found. Would his phone be found, and would that indicate where they’d ended up? He’d never know. He would never see his family and he would die out there at some point and he was pretty sure it would be a horrible and painful death. He shuddered and pushed that thought away. He could not think like that. He saw Greg stumble but catch himself.
Greg’s legs were shaking wildly and his heart was still beating hard in his chest. He was having a really hard time not breaking down and crying. He was a Marine and Marines didn’t cry, but he’d never killed anyone and he’d never had anyone try to kill him. He also felt like puking and he swallowed hard. They had passed the gladiators and he’d eyed them and he was in awe of them. They looked hardened and rough and he wondered how long he would live. He was now grateful for the presence of his friends and the training he’d received from the Marines. If he were trapped here by himself, he didn’t know what he would do.
He felt a cold sweat encase his body as his mind played out the fight above, over and over. Something dark had taken over and had fought that prisoner. Greg wasn’t a pacifist, but he wasn’t aggressive either. His fear had stepped aside and something had come out to fight. At first, he had been horrified and frightened of the prisoners coming at them with those jagged swords. But then, his body had taken over. It was as though he had become an animal, a killing machine. Was that how it was in war?
Was that why they had trained so hard in boot camp? So that his muscle memory would take over? He didn’t know, but he was glad he had survived. Once more, the thought of how long he would survive played in his mind. Could they find their way back to the future? Was that even possible? No son, you’re screwed, for real, he thought.
Dean moved as though in a fog. This was all so unreal, the killing and hacking all those men didn’t seem real either and yet, he’d felt their warm blood splash onto him. Then he’d seen those men, those gladiators. They were the epitome of the fighting man, the warrior, yesterday’s warrior, but warriors all the same. He was the modern warrior; he was the one who had technology that could wipe out a town. But now, he was here and he knew his life was forfeited, it was only a matter of time. Would it be weeks, months, years? Would he have to fight his friends? Could he?
No, he would let them kill him. He was responsible and no matter how much they said it was okay, it wasn’t okay. He’d fucked up and in a ginormous way and he’d brought his best friends with him. No, if and when the time came, he would trade his life so one of them could live. He didn’t know how much longer they would live, but he would sacrifice himself when the time came. He swallowed hard and thought about his mother, father and his sisters. By the end of the week, they would get the notice of his disappearance and they would grieve because there would never ever be a body.
He tried to push the image of his mother away; he had been a momma’s boy and he loved her dearly. There wasn’t a week that went by that he didn’t call her. The thought of his mother hung around him and he tried to take comfort in her. She wasn’t even born yet. He wondered when they were? He had been the last of his name and it would die with him and he was sure that he would be dumped in an unmarked mass grave.
“Man, put that dark shit away, focus on the now. You need to be strong for your brothers. You need to help them however you can,” Dean whispered to himself. He nodded, deciding that he would do everything in his power to help and protect his friends. They had forgiven him, but Dean could not forgive himself.
His eyes shifted and took note of his surroundings. They were in a vast underground cavern, filled with cages, people, platforms, ropes, equipment, and other props. There were thick ropes that disappeared into the rafters. The ropes were connected to pullies that would hoist whatever the Roman’s needed to go to the surface. This was the substructure of the colosseum, a vast city below the surface. He watched as men moved potted trees and sceneries onto a platform and began to haul on ropes, moving it up to the ceiling and then out to the sand of the colosseum. It was like some kind of warped backstage theater production. He snorted, he guessed it was theater for these people.
If he weren’t hurting so badly and terrified, he might think all of this fascinating. Part of his brain acknowledged it. The other was wondering how they were going to get back to their own time. A dark part of his mind wondered how long they would survive.
III
Thad brought up the rear as the men walked through the long tunnel. With each step pain shot through his body, from the soles of his feet, to his balls, to his back and ribs. He was a pulsating wound and his heartbeat moved that pain around his tall form. The reek of sewage was overwhelming and cloying down in the tunnels and the staggered torches lit the way. There were several slaves behind him and he knew they were there to block his way, should he choose to turn and run. A grunt of dark humor rumbled in his chest and Greg, who was ahead of him, looked back.
